Silence Loud
by BizarreSerenity
Summary: All work and no play can drive any man mad. Even a man as strong as Bane. Balia, BanexTalia. Rated M.


He sits silently at his desk, pouring over his work, the mess of blueprints, ledgers, notes and numbers beneath his hands fragile yet so important that he cannot help but handle them carefully, although he would like nothing more than to crumple them in his strong hands and cast them aside.

As always, the roar of the water was constant, mixed in with the noise of his soldiers toiling away. It was times like these that he longed for the silence of the wilderness that he had once hidden in after his excommunication from The League, the solitude.

His senses prickle, and he stares down blankly at the floor plans he had been examining, slowing his breath. He is no longer reading, examine, criticizing as he as been. No, his senses are cast out, and in the near dark of his cell like quarters of his hideout, he is aware of his visitor mere seconds before they slip noiselessly through his door.

He is assaulted by the scent of perfume, light and floral but tinged with spice, and the soft, controlled huff of breath.

_Talia._

He closes his eyes, and can see her there, leaning in his doorway. She will have her hair unbound instead of pinned up in that ridiculous coil of curls that her disguise warrants, for she knows that he loves twisting his hands through that dark mane of silk when they are joined . She will not be wearing those flimsy silken shirts, the suit jackets, the stockings and heels that cost half a fortune, for they are worthless in their eyes, mere status symbols that will never live up, never be greater than her true titles, although he has to admit that the silk compliments the softness of her skin. Instead she will be clothed in shadow, in dark colors, with a scarf wrapped around her face to ward off the cold, and to hide Talia Al Ghul from prying eyes, ignorant ones.

Her footsteps are soft, but he hears them echo, hears the rustle of her clothing, the quiet exhale of her breath as she draws near.

Talia does not speak.

He does not speak.

She stands behind him, so close that he can feel the heat of her body on his bare skin, on his arms, the places on his back that his armor does not cover. He feels her breath on his throat, hot, slightly damp, and sweet.

"_Come to bed._" She breathes, and her voice is like heaven, like the angels, it makes his blood sing and his skin shudder with desire. "_You are weary."_

She does not touch him, no, she only leans closer, warm breath washing over his neck. Her lips are so close to where his pulse beats the loudest, and he longs for her to kiss him there, just a brush of her impossibly soft lips.

"I cannot." He replies out of habit, voice muffled by the cage of metal clamped around his ruin of a mouth. "There is still work to be done."

He wants her. She knows that he wants her. But there is still so much that needs to be done before Talia can exact her revenge, before the wheels can start turning smoothly, before the final touches are made. Yes, he is weary, and burns for her company, but there are things to be done.

But then her hands are on him, warm, small hands, hot against his skin, pressing at his broad shoulders. Her fingers curl around them, and she rubs her cheek against his, the perfume of her hair heady and enticing.

"Work that cannot be done properly if you are too exhausted to concentrate." Talia murmurs, and Bane knows that even if he asked her to leave there would be no work finished that night, nothing remotely productive accomplished.

She slinks into his lap, her lips gliding over the skin of his throat in soft kisses that could've been just the sweep of a butterfly's wing.

Bane unwinds the scarf from her face, and her hair falls down her back in wild, tumbled curls. Her eyes are blazing, impossibly sapphire colored as her hands work at the buckles and laces of his armor, swiftly and easily. When all the ties are undone she slips it from his body with ease and drapes it over his desk before before skimming his bare chest with her fingertips, just a ghost of a touch, but one that sends electricity crackling through his veins.

Wordlessly, she beckons him, and he takes her into his arms before he rises from his seat. The feel of her against him prompts a growl to surge deep in his chest and rise into his throat, especially when she sighs in content. He carries her from the room to another, a smaller chamber where he sleeps, and wonders why he had even _tried_ to refuse her.

He lets her fall atop the mattress, where she sprawls elegantly on her back, hair tussled and cheeks flushed. Once again they are silent; they do not need words as he looms over her, rough, large hands slipping beneath the fabric of her shirt, cupping her breasts.

She moans, the sound breathy, half his name. Bane thinks he could die this way and never regret it, with his hands to her skin, his name on her lips.

With strength men and women alike have always thought impossible for a woman Talia's size and demeanor, she grasps his wrists, and tugs his hands away.

Her shirt is over her head as he complies, still leaning over her, close enough to feel her breath on his face, smell the scent of her skin. Her fingers are quick as she unhooks her brassiere, quicker still as she tugs off her trousers, leaving her bare save for her soft black panties. He groans at the sight, his breath harsh beneath his mask.

He must have her.

_Now._

There is a glint in her eyes, those blue eyes that came straight from heaven, the color of truth. There is fire, and something glittering there that he has never noticed, something otherworldly and even more stunning than the sight of her exposed before him.

She stands, palms pressing against his back, hot like brands, pushing him.

"_Lie down."_

Yes, he will do anything for her, even as fire courses through his veins.

She undresses him, or rather what's left; just a pair of black trousers, which she pulls down his hips. Bane can feel himself grow even harder as she licks her lips at the sight of him bare, blue eyes skating over his broad shoulders, the pronounced muscles of his abdomen, arms, chest. He knows that she loves seeing him this way, the raw, uncovered power that is his body, hewn and molded for _her_.

He lets her push him face down onto the mattress. He is tense, his left arm aches where a muscle has been strained, but he allows her to lay his arms at his sides. He lays his head on his side, breathes, and waits for her.

The mattress dips only slightly at Talia's weight, but she does not settle beside him as he expects.

No, tonight she straddles him, perched on his lower back. He can feel her hot and wet against him even through the fabric of her undergarments, and his breath comes harder, rasping through his mask. She adjusts, legs pressed on either side of him, the flats braced against the mattress until she is comfortable.

Bane holds his breath as her hands glide up his back, soft, gentle. She runs them along the sides of his spine, over planes of muscle and ropes of scar tissue, palms pressed flat, fingers unmoving. She smooths them over the bulk that is his neck, curving to squeeze his shoulders.

He moans as she starts to work the muscles there, pushing with the flats of her hands, where her palms meet wrist. Her head is bent; he can feel her long hair curtain her face, brush gently against his skin. He is awash in the sensation of her hands kneading and pulling the tension from his shoulders, heat sinking into his flesh. Those tiny hands, used for killing, back stabbing, striking and jabbing, are now so sensuous, so erotic that it is maddening.

When she is satisfied with the state of his shoulders, her hands wander lower, pressing the kinks from his scarred spine, thumbs moving in slow, easy circles down his back. The tension that has built up from a day of thundered orders, of lifting, advising, and yes, killing, leaves him with every touch, every caress of Talia's hands. She grasps his left arm, fingers searching, digging, pressing as she rounds his bicep, knuckles working in slow, rhythmic circles. She can feel the muscle there, taunt, strained, but soon it is relaxed after mere seconds of her ministrations, and he is breathing fast.

Though he is relaxed, he is still hard, and painfully so.

He lets out a long, pleased groan as she half lays on his back, legs still straddling his waist. Her breasts push against the flat of his spine, her hair gathered over one shoulder as she nips at his throat, teeth scraping softly at his skin, sending tremors down his spine.

And then the weight of her is gone, completely absent for a few seconds, the sound of cloth whispering against skin as loud as thunder. And she is tugging at his sides, pushing. Once more they do not need words, and he turns, lying flat on his back for her, dark eyes half closed but still blazing.

They can see each other clearly in the dark, clearer then most see in the sunlight. Years and Years spent in the Pit has honed their night vision, and she being born into the darkness of that Hell can see even clearer than he. Talia is a vision, her hair falling like a silken mantle down her shoulders, eyes shimmering, absolute glowing with desire and love. She is completely bare before him, dark skin as smooth as satin, hips delicately curved and rounded despite all her lean muscle.

She straddles his hips, leaning upwards. He watches her every move, his eyes never leaving hers as she adjusts herself into a more comfortable position atop him.

She grips the base of his cock with one hand and his breath hisses out through his mask, that damnable cage of metal. He would never change that day, he would live it a thousand times over and over again if it meant her freedom, but he yearns to kiss her, even with the ruin that is his mouth. Talia braces a hand on his chest, pressed flat.

"_I want to watch you._"

Her explanation is not needed; she knows that she may do whatever she desires to him, but the sound of her breathy purr, her confession, drives him insane. His breath is ragged at the words, tongue thick in the remnants of his mouth.

She lifts her hips, eyes like liquid sapphires in the dark, and sinks down slowly, ever so slowly.

He cannot stop the guttural moan from escaping him, one that quickly turns into a growl as she slowly breeches herself, until she is full and both of her hands are braced at his shoulders, knees trembling and breath stuttering.

Bane knows what she wants. She does not have to speak the words, no, they spark from her skin, from her eyes as his hands caress her face, thumb brushing tenderly over her lower lip. He shivers as her tongue darts out to lick the pad of his finger, teeth grazing the digit. His hands smooth down her shoulders, twine through her hair, and he throbs inside of her, craving for movement, but savoring the sight of her astride him.

Their eyes never part. Talia wants him to watch her, needs to look into his eyes. It is an urge he will never deny her; when has he denied her anything?

She rises up, slowly, breath hissing through clenched teeth as her sex grips him, unwilling to let him free, until she sinks back down and is full once more. Embers build beneath Bane's skin, falling down to his bones, and he manages to swallow another moan. Her eyes narrow at the stifled sound.

Talia does not like that.

She rides him in fast, furious bucks of her hips, nails digging sharply into the flesh of his shoulders. Her rage is unfathomable, like an open flame, the pace bringing him close to completion in a matter of minutes. He is gasping, head thrown back, eyes wide, stricken at her wildness, completely and utterly addicted.

And then, as he begins to feel himself draw even nearer, close, so close he can feel the flames roar and rise, she slows, her hips snapping in a hard but easy rhythm.

Oh God, he wants it so badly, would do anything, and he is begging her for it, streams of English, Arabic, blended into one. He has finally gone mad from her, and surrenders himself, submits.

She pulls away, and he nearly curses at the absence of her until she crawls downwards, yanking his knees apart with surprising strength. She surges upwards on her knees, hair tossed over one shoulder, smiling wickedly as her fingers stroke his thighs.

_God, YES._

Talia's mouth his hot around his cock, blissfully warm and wet as she sucks his length as far as she can take it. She works her tongue beneath his shaft as her lips move over him, head bobbing, eyes never leaving his. His hands fist in the sheets, cloth ripping.

She swallows around him and in a matter of seconds, he is undone.

White behind his eyes, and he is set ablaze, fire licking at his skin before diving beneath to swallow him, blood turning to lightning. He shudders, back arching, eyes rolling to the whites.

For a few blissful moments he is utterly consumed by her, their love, devotion, the feel of her mouth around his cock as she swallows his essence, her hands stroking his thighs lovingly as he comes.

Then he is a shuddering, shivering mass, panting, struggling to regain his composure. He can feel Talia pillow her head atop one of his thighs, humming in contentment, fingers stroking his skin in lazy circles.

He is not done with her yet.

Bane takes a few seconds to gather himself, seconds to breathe, to regain his thoughts.

Then his hands are knotted in Talia's hair and he is hauling her into his lap, pushing himself up. A surprised gasp wretches from her lips as Bane pulls her to him, pressing her back to his chest. The heat of her bare back against him is nearly scalding, and he pushes her knees open none too gently, one hand twisted into her dark mane of curls, the other sliding down her thigh.

His mask is pressed against the side of her head, and she mewls as he traces patterns into her skin, lazy circles just as she had done before. He is so _close_ to the place where she wants to be touched that it is torture.

Bane knows the feeling all too well.

He, too, has been in this position, at the mercy of one another.

A single finger is slipped suddenly inside of her and she wails, legs thrashing as she bucks her hips against his hand. But he is slow, gentle, though the hand tangled in her hair is anything but. Bane knows that she enjoys that slight pain, the sting of it, and tugs her head back to rest on one of his massive shoulders. He slips the finger out, back inside, and out again, all as she curses and writhes beneath him.

He longs to mark her as his. He yearns to sink his teeth into her throat, to brand her there.

Once more, even in the hazy aftershocks of pleasure, he damns the prison fastened over what is left of his mouth, of his lips.

He presses another finger inside and adopts a faster, harder pace, and Talia gasps, moans, clenches around him. She is nearing completion, and his hand leaves her hair to circle her clit with the rough pad of his thumb, pressing, rubbing in a way he knows will set her free.

She comes suddenly, holding tight to him, hands scrabbling for some part of him to grip until they are held aloft and fastened around his neck. A tortured scream escapes her as she tenses, her knees locking shut, fingers trapped in her tight heat.

"_BANE!"_

His name is torn from her, a tortured cry as she collapses, shuddering, in his lap. Her head lolls bonelessly at his shoulder, tears coursing down her cheeks as she shivers.

Gently, easily, as if she weighs nothing he lifts her, tucking her tightly against his chest, muscled arms holding her in place. Talia is holding onto him for dear life, little after-shocks sinking into her bones, violent tremors until she is still.

Talia is warm in his arms, warm and limp. She rubs her cheek against the crook of his neck, murmurs a single endearment in his mother-tongue that draws the softest of smiles to his ruined lips, until she quiets.

They are silent, and he gazes down upon her as fatigue starts to draw him into is marvelous clutches. They do not need to pepper each other with I Love Yous or words of comfort. No, they are far too close for that. Their bond cannot be expressed in any language, in any words.

The room may be silent, but their hearts are loud, beating as one, with the words that will forever go unsaid.


End file.
